


Crossing Out the Good Years

by nontoxic



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Divorce, M/M, Supernatural Elements, idk man this is a weird one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nontoxic/pseuds/nontoxic
Summary: They've been married for six years when Patrick asks for a divorce."We're both miserable, David," he says with a sigh as he leans against the kitchen counter in the dark. "I love you, so much, but... I don't know how to make you happy anymore."David blinks at him, the alcohol still coursing through his system making it hard for him to absorb the words right away. "I'm happy," he mumbles.Patrick shakes his head. "No, you're not."---One thing, David didn’t doone thing, and moved them to New York and let their marriage fall apart.But that wasn't supposed to happen.So Fate intervenes.(aka the divorce-ish fic)
Relationships: Patrick Brewer & Alexis Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Patrick Brewer/Original Character(s), Stevie Budd & David Rose
Comments: 265
Kudos: 381





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all.
> 
> Uh. This one gets angsty for a bit. But I guarantee a fluffy, happy ending. It just takes them some time to get there.
> 
> This work is complete and will be updated every other day until finished!
> 
> Big thanks to [yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau) and [spiffymittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiffymittens/pseuds/spiffymittens) for beta-ing this!
> 
> \--  
> title from "my tears ricochet" by taylor swift

They've been married for six years when Patrick asks for a divorce.

"We're both miserable, David," he says with a sigh as he leans against the kitchen counter in the dark. "I love you, _so_ much, but... I don't know how to make you happy anymore."

David blinks at him, the alcohol still coursing through his system making it hard for him to absorb the words right away. "I'm happy," he mumbles.

Patrick shakes his head. "No, you're not."

"So, what, you want a divorce because you think I'm not happy?" He snaps, his voice going high and breathy.

His husband — he now has a finite number of times he can still call him that — just looks at him with his wide, earnest eyes. "No, David. I want a divorce because I've been trying for the last six years to make us both happy, and neither one of us is."

"I'm happy!" David repeats, loudly, his eyebrows knitting together. "Why wouldn't I be happy? Our business is more successful than ever, we have a beautiful apartment in the best city in the world, and I have a husband who I love more than anything—"

"You don't, though, David," Patrick practically croaks. "You don't love me more than anything."

"That's not true, I—"

"Where were you tonight?"

"What?"

"Where were you until," he glances at the clock on the microwave. "Until twelve thirty in the morning?"

David bristles. "I had a vendor meeting with Shayna, I told you about this."

"Ah, _Shayna_ ,” Patrick repeats, passive-aggressively.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Patrick? What, do you... do you think I'm _cheating_ on you?"

He shakes his head. "No, David. I... I think there's something else. I don't know what it is, but as soon as we got here, you just... you stopped... we..." He sighs. "I know you're not sleeping with her."

"Then what is the fucking problem? Are you mad I didn't bring you along? Shayna's _vibe_ is very specific, okay, she—"

"I'm not mad you didn't invite me, David, I'm mad that..." He takes a breath and lets it out slowly, before setting his mug on the counter. He crosses his arms and looks David dead in the eye. When he speaks his voice is calculated and even. "I'm mad that you thought it was _appropriate_ to stay out until _after midnight_ , having drinks with one of our vendors, _on our anniversary_."

David's blood runs cold. "No, no, no, our anniversary is," he pulls out his phone and glances at the screen. _12:37 AM. September 4_. It's after midnight. He missed it. " _Fuck_."

Patrick swallows thickly. "I'll sleep on the couch tonight. You'll sleep off your hangover better in the bed." He runs a hand through his hair. "I think it'd be best if you stay with Alexis for a while—"

"Patrick..."

"—until we figure this out."

"Patrick, honey, I'm sorry, okay, I..."

He shakes his head. He steps forward and drops a kiss to David's cheek, his breath shaky against his overheated skin. "Goodnight, David."

A moment later, David is alone in the kitchen, his stomach churning.

\---

"What are you _doing_ , Patrick?" Alexis asks him the moment she walks into the café.

"Alexis, I—"

"You're _divorcing_ him? You guys are like, soulmates, this is _insane_!"

She drops into the booth across from him and flags down a waitress, asking for two teas and some honey. She called him yesterday, once David was asleep on her couch, and begged him to meet with her.

"Alexis, please don't..."

"Patrick," she says softly, reaching a hand out to rest on top of his, stilling his fidgeting thumbs with a gentle touch. "You're my brother, too, you know. You can talk to me. I won't... I won't tell him anything."

He feels his chin wobble slightly, and he chokes out, "We aren't _happy_ anymore, Alexis. I've tried everything, I don't... I don't know how to _fix_ it, we're just... we're both fucking _miserable._ "

"So go to couples' therapy, don't just _leave_ him!"

He shakes his head. "We've been in therapy for three years."

Her mouth drops open in shock as she searches for the words. "Oh my god, Patrick..."

He shrugs. "He doesn't... Alexis, I love him. I'm always _going_ to love him. I just... I can't _stay_ with him and let us both feel this _miserable_ for the rest of our lives. I'm so... this is killing me, but I just can't..."

Alexis hops out of the booth and sits next to him, wrapping her arms around him.

They sit there for a few minutes, just holding each other.

"You know you'll always be family, right? Even if... even if this sticks, if you guys can't work it out... you can call me, if you need to."

He nods and thanks her. They drink their tea, shoulder to shoulder in the booth, and then she stands, late for a meeting, wraps her arms tightly around him, and squeezes.

“I love you very much, Patrick.”

“I love you, too, Alexis.”

He squeezes her back, and then she's gone, out the door and into the bustle of New York City.

\---

David knocks on the door. It feels strange. His name is on the mortgage, right next to Patrick’s, but still, he knocks.

"So, you're not fighting for the apartment?" David asks in lieu of a greeting when the door opens, his voice hollow, a manila envelope in his hand stamped with _The Law Office of Geoff McClain_.

Patrick just shakes his head. There’s no fight in him, it’s like he’s begrudgingly accepted his fate. "I'm leaving the city."

"You're what?" David breathes as he steps inside.

"I can't... I hate it here, David."

"What about our business?"

He shrugs. "It's yours."

David's throat goes dry. It feels more real, somehow, for Patrick to be leaving their business than to be leaving their home. They _built_ their business together. It represents their entire relationship — those early days, flirting over soft launches and body milk, the open mic nights, opening their SoHo flagship as _husbands_. He swallows thickly as he follows Patrick into the office, trying to lubricate his throat enough to speak. "I... you know I can't afford to buy you out. _You're_ the one who handles the numbers."

"I'm not asking for my initial investment back. I'm turning my half over to you. I've already talked to Geoff about it,” he says, pulling his books from the shelf and placing them into a box.

"So what, you're gonna move back to Schitt's Creek?"

Patrick winces. "No, no. Um. Too many memories. I can't..."

David feels like he can't breathe. "So what are you going to do then?"

"What I did last time, I guess," he says with a bitter laugh. "Pack what I can carry in my suitcase, pick a new town, start over."

"Patrick..."

"It's okay, David." He’s always soothing David, even now.

"No it’s _not_ , Patrick! It's not okay!"

"What else do you want me to say here, David?"

"I want you to say you're making a mistake! That you don't want to _leave_ me, that you... that you'll fight for me!" His voice is high and hollow. He feels like he’s suffocating.

Patrick glares at him, but his voice comes out almost at a whisper. "David, I've been fighting for you for almost a decade."

"So then let me fight for _you_!"

He shakes his head. "I've been asking you to for the last five years! You haven't... You won't..."

David wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him toward him. "Patrick, honey..." he whispers, nosing along his jaw. Patrick's arms immediately wrap around him, holding him tight. "Fuck, Patrick, I love you so much."

"I love you too," Patrick chokes out, before he tilts his head and kisses him, mouth hot and insistent against his soon-to-be ex-husband's.

David opens easily for him, his arms moving to wind around Patrick's neck, kissing him back with everything he has.

He pushes him into their — _just mine now_ , David thinks, sadly — bedroom, and drops Patrick onto the mattress.

They pull off their sweaters in tandem, and David pulls his jeans off his ankles as Patrick unbuckles his braided brown belt, before stepping forward and pulling his ( _ex_ )husband's pants down his thick legs.

 _Fuck,_ he's going to miss this.

Patrick pulls him in, their teeth cracking against each other as he seals his mouth over David's.

They move in a practiced routine, muscle memory taking over as David pushes Patrick onto his stomach and presses his tongue against him until Patrick is begging him for more.

He pushes his lube-slicked fingers into him, curling them unrelentingly until Patrick is leaking and incoherent, before he flips him over and presses inside him slowly, watching his ( _ex_ )husband's dark eyes widen as he gets used to him.

He's going to miss those eyes.

"Move, David, please, just..."

He doesn't need to be asked twice.

He drags out slowly, almost all the way, before he presses back in just as torturously, keeping the slow, steady pace until they're both crying.

Patrick wraps his arms and legs around David, pulling him flush against his chest, and presses his face into his neck. "I'm going to miss you," he whispers into that spot under his ear that he claimed years ago.

"Me too. God, I love you so much, Patrick," he tells him as he wraps a hand around his cock, the rhythm of his fist moving in perfect contrast to the slow drags he's making with his hips.

He feels Patrick nod against his shoulder. "I love you too, _fuck_ , David, I love you so much..." He trails off as he comes between them.

David falls over the edge a moment later, his mouth latched onto Patrick's, their tears salty on his tongue.

He collapses next to his ( _ex_ , fuck, yeah, he _knows_ , stop rubbing it in) husband, catching their breath for a moment before he reaches into their — _his, fuck!_ — nightstand for a wipe and cleaning them both up gently.

"David..." Patrick breathes, a hand coming up to rest along his jaw. "I..."

"I know, honey. Me too."

Patrick leans forward and presses a lingering kiss to his forehead. "I'm never gonna love anyone like I love you," he whispers, matter-of-factly.

The thought of Patrick moving on one day is too much to bear, so he just nods. "I know. Me neither."

Patrick kisses him gently, letting out a soft, shaky breath against his mouth. "Can I stay tonight? Just... just tonight. I want to... I want to have one last night with you."

David nods and wraps his arms around him.

They cry themselves to sleep, gripping each other tightly.

\---

"Hey! What the _fuck!_ "

"What?"

"You're David Rose?"

"Ronnie?"

"Oh, is that who your subconscious conjured up?" Ronnie's face scrunches in thought. "Ronnie Lee? Contractor in Schitt's Creek, hated Patrick, gave a florist _multiple_ body-shaking orgasms in return for her getting you extra flowers on your wedding day? That Ronnie?"

David nods, dumbfounded.

Ronnie shrugs and glances down at her body. "Could be worse, I guess."

He looks around. He's in their store. Not the SoHo flagship, or the Upper West Side location. Not even the Midtown popup. Hell, not even their booth at the Union Square Holiday Market. Their original, long-since-closed Schitt's Creek location. And Ronnie is standing there, hand on her hip, watching him impatiently.

"Where am I?"

She waves him off. "Irrelevant. What matters is that you fucked up _big_ time."

"Oh... kay...?"

She sighs. "I'm not Ronnie."

He just blinks at her.

"I'm not even human. Guardian angel, demon, spirit guide, whatever the hell you humans want to call it now — doesn't matter. What matters is that you fucked up."

"Well, I fuck up a lot of things, okay, so I need more information, here."

She rolls her eyes. "You and Patrick are _literal_ soulmates. A bond stronger than any I've seen. I'm new to the game, you're only my five thousandth Pair, but still. A really fucking strong bond."

He purses his lips at her and scrunches his nose. "Okay, thanks for that, my heart wasn't broken enough."

"And whose fault is that?!" she asks.

" _He's_ leaving _me!_ So!"

"Because _you_ fucked up!"

"Again! Details! Please!" he shouts, waving his hands around vaguely

She steps forward and grips his wrist, pulling him out of the store.

They step out of the door and in front of them is the cottage Patrick almost bought, back in Schitt's Creek. David still loves it.

He chokes down a sob. “What are we doing here?"

"This was supposed to be _it_ , David. God, I look away for a _minute_..."

"Okay, great, I screwed up and moved us to New York. Now he's divorcing me."

Ronnie glares at him.

David blinks. Stevie is standing in front of him.

"Stevie! What—"

"I made an executive decision. I don't know why you came up with Ronnie, but this is more appropriate."

"I've missed you."

She waves him off. "I'm not Stevie." She glances back at him and narrows her eyes. "But you should call her. We both know taking her out for dinner when she's in town for annual board meetings isn't enough. You fucked that one up, too."

"Okay!"

She sighs. "You were supposed to bring her here."

"Where?"

"To the house. She would've talked some sense into you."

He glances at his feet, the grass lush and green and _soft_ underneath him. Nothing like the concrete sidewalks of New York City that he's used to now. "What... what was the conversation?"

Stevie — or, this being in a Stevie-suit, but it's easier for him to think of them as just Stevie — reaches out to take his hand, the entire conversation playing against his eyelids.

_David, look at this place! You've won!_

_You can't have those dreams here?_

_Good people, good people do things like that._

_Why do you want to go back to a place that's done nothing but hurt your feelings?_

_...Patrick must have driven out here and knocked on that door and asked those people to call him if they ever planned on selling, just because I said it was nice!_

_I don't want you to leave me here!_

_I want those people to know that I'm not a joke. And that I've won._

He wrenches his hand from hers with a gasp.

" _That's_ your problem, David."

He stares at the house. He _hates_ himself.

"You've been so concerned with showing them that you _won_. You let your ego get in the way. You got so desperate to _prove_ yourself to those people that you didn’t consider Patrick the way you should have. The way he needed you to."

It's true. He hadn't thought about it like that, but it's true. He thought he was doing what was best for both of them — the apartment, just out of their price range, but beautiful and conveniently located near their store in SoHo; the vendors, who didn't _get_ Patrick, but offered them a nice deal as long as David wined and dined them; his friends, who offered Patrick a group of queer peers to relate to, but never really connected deeply with either one of them... who weren't even able to make it to the wedding last-minute.

"Oh my god..." he whispers.

"Do you get it now? Finally?"

He nods, unable to form words.

"Okay, good." She takes a breath. "God, what shitty fucking therapist were you guys going to that couldn't make you realize that?"

"Um," he clears his throat. "I think... I think she might have tried? She, uh, gave me work, sometimes. To do by myself. To work on my ‘need to be accepted,’” he says, bitterly. “But it didn't... it didn't matter to me? Because I had Patrick. I think by that time, I wasn't willing to listen."

She raises an eyebrow at him. "And how'd that work out for you?"

He tries to glare at her. He thinks he may just look like a sad toddler.

"Okay, here's what I'm gonna do," she tells him. "You have two options. You can either go back, talk to Patrick, acknowledge your faults, and work through it, or you can go back to this day, sit with Stevie, and do it again. Do it _right_."

He thinks about their honeymoon, about dates in Central Park, about trips to California to see his family, about showing Clint and Marcy around at their flagship's grand opening, and shakes his head. "I don't want to forget the last six years."

She nods once. "Okay. When you wake up, you won't remember this. But you'll know what you have to do."

"Thank you, so much."

"Whatever. Just... don't make me come down here again. I don't like meddling. Get your shit together on your own, David."

He nods. "I will."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, sorry in advance, but I would once again like to reiterate my promise that David and Patrick get their happily ever after in this fic.  
> \---  
> Once again, big thanks to [yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau) and [spiffymittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiffymittens/pseuds/spiffymittens) for the beta on this!  
> 

They sigh, and let themself feel the warm sun on their not-quite-a-face-but-close-enough for a moment before checking back in with David.

Who... is asleep in an apartment in Brooklyn with a woman they've never seen before.

Oh, what the _fuck_.

They search for Patrick. He's not in New York.

He's not in Ottawa with his parents. He's not in Schitt's Creek. He's not in Ontario, period.

They search for a moment, finally finding him. David's love is still all over him, so it's not hard. He's just farther than they thought.

He's in a suburb of Portland, sitting alone in bed, holding an object in his hand.

They glance at his bedside table. It's two o'clock in the morning there; why is Patrick awake? And why is he holding... is that a ring box?

Oh, _hell_ no.

They press a hand (or the closest approximation of a hand that they can conjure up in this form) to his forehead, digging for the memories.

It's been nearly two years, they discover.

The morning after they visited David, he woke up and pleaded with Patrick, vowing to work on himself.

"Patrick, I promise, I just... I fucked up, okay? I don't _care_ about that, I don't care about any of it!"

"David..."

"Let's move back home, okay?" he begged, loud and panicked. "Let's just leave, and go to Schitt's Creek, and just be married. We can reopen our store there, and—"

"David, stop!" Patrick insisted, his voice firm as he cut David off. David's mouth snapped shut as the grim realization settled in. Patrick took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he scrubbed a hand over his face, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking again. "I can't... I can't _do_ this, okay? We signed the papers. It's done."

He brought his hands together to twist his wedding band, then glanced down at his bare finger when he realized it was no longer there. "David, this is... the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Please don't make it harder, okay? If you ask me to stay, we both know I will." He looked back up at David and reached for him, like he always had, settling one hand gently over David's fist. "I can't, though, David. It's killing me. Please, just... let me go."

David lifted Patrick's hand to press a gentle kiss to his palm. He looked back at Patrick, two pairs of tear-filled eyes meeting in understanding, before nodding once. They stood simultaneously, always so in sync, even now, and wrapped their arms around each other tightly. "Okay," David acquiesced, his face buried into the crook of Patrick's neck. "Okay. I love you."

"I love you, too. I always will, David."

They watched as David left, spending the day in the office above their store, staring at a framed receipt hanging on the wall, as Patrick packed his few belongings into his car.

And then he was gone.

Patrick moved to Oregon, found an apartment, visited a few gay bars. He eventually did hook up with a man three months after he left New York, then drove back to his apartment immediately after and cried himself to sleep, thinking of David.

Then a coworker set him up with her brother.

Ben is attractive, and nice, and funny. Patrick likes him. (They realize it's exactly how Patrick felt about Rachel. There's deep affection there, and honest friendship. Patrick genuinely loves Ben the way he genuinely loved Rachel — truly and honestly, but shallowly. Nothing like how he loved — _loves_ — David.)

Ben proposed 623 days after their first date.

Patrick said yes automatically, kissing him and forcing himself to smile. He'd fucked Ben into the mattress and tried not to compare it to the mind-blowing sex he'd had with David when they got engaged, muscles sore and stiff from the hike, bodies still salty with sweat, the taste of champagne on their tongues. Engagement sex with Ben was... satisfactory.

But it's the closest he imagines he'll ever get to happy again. So he said yes.

Which is why he's here, in his own apartment, less than 24 hours later, the ring tucked back into the box as he stares at it.

They can't believe it.

Their talk with David was supposed to work! David and Patrick were supposed to be happy!

Instead, Patrick is sitting on the other side of the country, desperately chasing the ghost of a feeling he lost six years ago.

They follow Patrick to Ben's the next night, and wait around for his Guardian to show up.

Eight weeks later, when Ben and Patrick are arguing about the wedding, when Ben throws the word _divorcé_ at him and Patrick has the wind knocked out of him, they finally do.

"You're Ben's?" they ask.

"Yeah. You Patrick's?"

"His and his soulmate's," they respond, bitterly. As if it's this Guardian's fault that they aren't together. As if this Guardian isn't worried about their Pair, too.

Ben's Guardian narrows their eyes. "David?"

"Yep."

They sigh, or something close to it, since they don't breathe. "I figured David was Patrick's soulmate. I can see it when he talks about him." They glance up, avoiding eye contact — not that they have eyes, but whatever the celestial being equivalent of eye contact is, they avoid it. "Ben's soulmate is in New York. He was planning to move there right before he met Patrick," they gesture toward the couple, who are now enthusiastically making up. They can feel Patrick's discontent from across the room, even as he experiences physical pleasure. They think Ben's Guardian is feeling the same from his charge. "He got a job offer two weeks after their first date. He turned it down."

"Tough break."

"Yeah. Patrick mentioned his ex-husband in New York, and Ben knew he'd never want to move back, so he stayed." They both glance over at the couple, now asleep, but still slightly on edge. "It was the wrong call. Matthias — Ben's soulmate — is in New York, trying to figure himself out. It's hard trying to work for both of them when..."

They nod (or something). "I get it. David and Patrick were so _easy_. I was just about to step in when David's family moved, then Patrick found him. He _felt_ him. He doesn't realize it, of course—"

"Of course," Ben's Guardian agrees.

"—but he did. He chose that small town out of every small town because David was there. He chose him again and again, and fought for him over and over, and David did the same. They were... I've never seen a bond like that."

"So what happened?"

"David is an idiot. Patrick is a martyr. I'm trying to fix it."

"Well, can you hurry up? Matthias is starting to get really lonely."

They nod. "I get it. David was, too, before Patrick." They glance at the couple, now silently moving through their morning routine. There's no playful teasing, no soft smiles, no wandering hands making them late for work. They don't know how humans feel love, but watching Patrick with Ben makes them ache for what they felt when he was with David. They can't even imagine how much Patrick must be longing for it.

They get an idea.

\---

"Hi, Patrick."

"Rachel?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, really? _That's_ who you came up with?"

He glances around. He's in his room at Ray's, which, okay? "What are you doing here?"

"Look, I'm not Rachel. I'm a... like a guardian angel? Or whatever. Humans have different names for me. Anyway, here's the deal. You and Ben? A horrible decision."

He crosses his arms, defensively. "I'm happy."

"You're not. You love David."

"Of course I love David!" He shouts, his subconscious clearly having been pushing this thought away for a while. "I'm always _going_ to love David!"

"Then go be with David!"

He shakes his head. "No. He... he didn't love _me_ enough." He sits down on the floral bedspread. "I chose him. The first time I saw him, I just... I knew. I _chose_ to try. I _chose_ to be with him, to propose to him, to move to New York for him. He never chose me." Patrick sighs, fiddling with the ring on his left hand. It's gold, here in his subconscious, instead of the platinum band Ben gave him. "We fell apart a long time ago. I spent so long trying to put us back together. I just... wish he'd helped."

Rachel nods. "And if he did?"

He glances up, confused. "If he did what?"

"Choose you. Help you fix things."

He sighs. "It's too late now, I think."

"But what if he did before?"

He looks at her.

"I just... there was a moment, okay? That was _supposed_ to happen, and I don't know how it didn't, but... he was supposed to choose to stay in Schitt's Creek. Stevie was supposed to talk some sense into him—"

"Stevie? _I_ was his _husband_! He should've talked to _me_ —"

"You can't be all things for a person, Patrick. This had to be Stevie."

He scoffs. But he knows she's right.

"Anyway. She was supposed to make him realize that he had nothing to prove in New York. That he had everything he needed. He was _supposed_ to choose to stay."

"What difference would it have made?"

She looks at him, pityingly. "Do you _really_ want to know?"

"Yes."

"Don't say I didn't warn you." She presses a hand to cup his cheek, and he gasps at what she shows him. Him and David, in the cottage, a few years younger but grinning at each other over a sink of sudsy dishes; him and David, around their current ages, cutting the ribbon outside the old Blouse Barn in Elmdale, the sign above now reading "Rose Apothecary," as David pulls him in for a kiss; him and David, gently making love in front of the fireplace, the power out as the snow falls heavily outside the window; him and David, a few years older, standing in their backyard with Stevie, Alexis, and Rachel, both sets of their parents in deep conversation next to the grill. There are two kids running around that look suspiciously like Alexis, and Ruth and Ted walk out of the sliding glass patio doors with a "Happy 10th Anniversary" cake.

A life. A _good_ life, one where he's happy, where he gets to keep the love of his life.

He pulls his face away from her hand.

"That was cruel," he whispers.

"You asked. You deserve to know what you could have, if—"

"No," he shakes his head. "We didn't get to be those people. He didn't _let_ us be those people."

"What if you could? Would you go back?"

Patrick's chin trembles. "Would I give up the last _eight years_ of my life? My job, my fiancé? Just... for a _chance_ to have that with David?"

Rachel nods, like it's that simple.

"In a second," he whispers. He swallows, and looks at her, his face determined. "I'd give it up in a second."

She nods. "Okay. I'll try to convince him."

He stares at her, his eyes wet. "I just want him to be happy." He sighs. " _I_ just want to be happy."

She kisses him on the forehead, leaving him with the memory of proposing to David on top of a mountain, the relief and elation that he felt.

"I _will_ get that back for you," she tells him. "Now, you won't remember this conversation, but... sweet dreams, Patrick."

He nods, letting the memory of a fuzzy black sweater and champagne and pure joy pull him back under.

\---

When he wakes up, he feels Ben, hard and insistent against his ass, his hand lightly stroking his cock.

"About time you woke up, I got started without you," Ben mumbles into his shoulder, his grip on Patrick tightening.

The silver ring on Patrick's left hand comes into blinding focus where it rests on the pillow in front of him. It should be gold, the mattress should be firmer, the sheets shouldn't be _blue_. Everything feels wrong.

"We need to talk," he says instinctively.

"Later," Ben whispers, slipping beneath the covers and taking Patrick in his mouth.

Patrick gasps, brain still fuzzy, and grips Ben's hair, imagining it darker, wishing the arm thrown across his hips was longer, and missing the heat of four gold rings against his skin when Ben wraps his right hand around what his mouth can't take.

He pulls off for a moment before diving back in, his cheek dragging along Patrick's inner thigh, his unshaven face scratching deliciously against Patrick's skin in a way that reminds him of David's permanent five o'clock shadow.

Patrick blames the swarming thoughts of his ex-husband on a bad dream.

And he has to bite his lip until it bleeds to stop himself from crying out another name as he comes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read this. The angst is almost over!
> 
> One again, big thanks to thanks to [yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau) and [spiffymittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiffymittens/pseuds/spiffymittens) for the beta!  
> 

"David!"

His eyes snap open. "Alexis?"

"Sure, look, it's me again."

"Alexis?" he repeats, his eyebrows furrowing as he realizes they are in their old motel room, Alexis on the bed across from his.

"Ugh, no, David! Your... guardian angel or whatever!" Alexis reaches out and boops his nose, and he remembers an earlier conversation, with... Ronnie and Stevie? Either way, this suddenly makes sense to him.

"Oh!"

"Yeah. So. Hi again."

"Hi."

"Patrick is in Oregon."

"I know."

"He's _engaged_."

David's face crumples for a moment, before he forces it into a mask of indifference. "What?"

"Yeah. Some like, totally bland guy with a tight little body who reminds him absolutely nothing of you, but who he like, still imagines is you most of the time."

He flinches. "Okay, and how do you know this?"

"I just visited him."

"Well _that_ seems like an invasion of privacy! Besides, I thought you were _my_ guardian angel!"

"Ugh, David! Pay attention! You two are a Pair, I'm basically _both_ of your Guardian! Guardians? Ugh, whatever, the point is, I look after both of you."

"Well, who got you in the divorce?"

She groans. "You two are soulmates, David! It's not that easy to just like, _abandon_ one of you."

He blanches. "Soulmates?"

"Yes, obviously! I told you this last time, were you not paying attention?"

"No, no, we can't be, we... we got divorced!"

She narrows her eyes. "Mm, did you, though?"

"Uh, yeah, Alexis, I signed the fucking papers."

She grins wickedly. "You don't want me to send you back, so I broke a few rules. Call your lawyer, David."

\---

He knocks on the door, tentatively at first, then more firmly when there's no answer.

It feels like both seconds and years before the door is swinging open and—

"Patrick," he breathes.

"David?" he asks, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion, his eyes wide in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

"I, um. I saw that you're engaged."

Patrick doesn't nod, he just stares at him.

"Congratulations," David forces, the word nearly choking him.

Patrick doesn't react, he doesn't move, he keeps his eyebrows knitted together, his wide eyes stuck on David's.

David clears his throat. "Anyway, I had to get in touch with our lawyer because there was an issue with your payout for the apartment, and it turns out, um," he glances over Patrick's shoulder. He really hopes his fiancé isn't here. "You never signed the papers," he blurts out, raising the envelope that he was holding in front of himself like a shield.

Patrick blinks, once, twice, before stepping aside and gesturing for David to enter.

The apartment reminds him of Patrick's studio in Schitt's Creek. He's overcome with memories of making out on his too-small sofa, of kicking the old coffee table over in their haste to undress, of sitting on his kitchen counter with Patrick bracketed between his thighs, of sleepy sex in a bed similar to the one tucked along the north wall of this room, of wild sex on top of a kitchen table just inside the door, just like the one he's currently setting the envelope on top of.

It overwhelms him, and he wonders if Patrick is feeling the same. If that's why Patrick chose this place.

He takes a deep breath — _god_ , it even smells like Patrick's old apartment, that mix of his laundry detergent and his favorite Rose Apothecary dish soap, which they — _he_ , fuck, two years and he still isn't used to it — doesn't even sell anymore as the business is no longer in Canada. He fights down the urge to glance into the kitchen and see what dish soap Patrick has so he can buy it for his apartment in New York and pretend this never happened.

He's spiraling, but Patrick is watching him so he pretends like he's not, keeping his back straight and his eyes fixed on Patrick's, even as he lies through his teeth. He got really good at this during their marriage. "Yeah, um. Geoff called when the payment bounced back, he didn't have your forwarding address for the papers or the check and he's been trying to get in touch with you for the signature—"

"And you just thought, what, that instead of giving him my address, you'd fly out here to give them to me yourself?" He asks, his voice even, his blank expression giving David nothing.

"Um."

Patrick just looks at him. "What are you really doing here, David?"

David clenches one fist. "Why didn't you sign the papers, Patrick?"

He clenches his jaw before breathing out a sigh. David knows that means he's frustrated, and he thrills a little that he's finally reacting — and that he still knows him like this. "I thought I had."

"But you didn't."

"Apparently not," Patrick responds through his teeth.

"Why wouldn't you?"

Patrick throws his hands in the air. "There was a lot going on, David! I was moving across the country to get away from you, I must have missed it."

"You've never missed a piece of paperwork in your life."

"Can you blame me?" He asks, his voice loud, but even. "I didn't _want_ to divorce the love of my life, okay? So if I... _subconsciously_ put it off until I was sure it was already done—"

"I'm the love of your life?" David interjects, quietly. "Still?"

"That's what the 'of my life' part means, David," he says, gently.

It reminds David of a thousand sweet moments with this man, of a soft "thank you" after a first kiss, of a beautiful performance in front of half the town, of a needling first "I love you," of an emotional speech atop a mountain, of all the times Patrick whispered his name in the dark.

David steps forward, taking a deep breath, steeling himself. "I'm going to do something very stupid."

"I wish you would," Patrick whispers, his eyes flickering to David's lips just before David's mouth crashes onto his.

He pulls David further into the apartment, his mouth never leaving his, David shoving both of their pants to their knees as they stumble. Patrick falls back onto the couch and pulls David on top of him, before licking his palm and taking them both in his fist.

It's fast and filthy and desperate and over so fucking soon.

David is still catching his breath when Patrick whispers, "Holy shit," into his hair.

"I know, I missed—" he glances up and realizes Patrick's reaction isn't awe.

It's panic.

"Patrick—"

Patrick ignores him, sliding out from under his weight and grabbing a tissue to wipe off his hand. He doesn't look at David as he pulls his pants up and steps over to the table to grab the envelope. "I'll grab a pen," he whispers.

"Patrick..."

"I just _cheated on my fiancé_ , David, I can't do this right now."

David scoffs, pulling up his joggers. "Well, technically, you've been cheating on your husband for the last two years, since we were _apparently_ never divorced."

He watches Patrick leaf through the papers, his pen scratching his signature on each flagged line. "We are now," he mumbles.

A minute later, David's world shatters one final time when Patrick hands him the signed papers, softly telling him, "You should leave now, David."

Still, he tries.

"Patrick, honey, I—"

"Don't."

"I love you!" he tries, desperately. "I've always loved you, and I _will_ always love you, and you _just said_ that you'll always love me, so _what the fuck_ are we doing?"

"We're accepting that maybe that's not enough," Patrick replies with a gentle shrug.

"It is, though!"

"No, David. It's not. We..."

David crosses his arms. "Tell me why this can't work."

Patrick sighs, his head dropping to his chest. "Because you spent the last six years breaking my heart every single day, and I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive you for it."

David lets out a sob. "Patrick—"

"Please, just... go, David."

He gestures to the envelope in his hands. "I'll just drop these off to Geoff, then."

"I think that's for the best."

David pauses, one hand on the doorknob, and takes a deep breath, preparing to finally say what he's been holding in for the last two years. "I need you to know... if you ever change your mind... if you ever decide you can forgive me, just call. I'll answer, no matter what. If you... if you want to move back to Schitt's Creek, or home to Ottawa, or somewhere new, I'll be there." He presses a kiss to Patrick's cheek. "I love you more than anything, Patrick."

Patrick swallows. "Me too, David," he whispers like a secret.

David supposes it is, now that Patrick has agreed to spend the rest of his life with someone else.

A moment later, Patrick's apartment door closes behind him. The sound echoes loudly in his mind for longer than David cares to admit.

\---

"I'm making an executive decision!" Ruth exclaims.

"What are you—"

She rolls her eyes and places a hand on David's arm, reminding him of past conversations. "Yeah, guardian angel or whatever, blah blah, who gives a shit. That's not the point. The point is, I've given you two _far_ too many chances to fuck this up on your own, and I realized something back there."

"What?"

"That there's too much hurt and anger for this to work now."

He scoffs. "Obviously."

"So, I'm not giving you a choice. I'm sending you back to do it over. Patrick has already consented to it."

David feels the sob threatening to creep up his throat. "I thought I could fix it," he says, his voice small. "He... he told you to erase our entire marriage?"

"For a chance to do it right? Yeah."

"How do you _know_ —"

She rolls her eyes and takes his hand gently in hers, showing him what she showed Patrick, the life they could've had.

He pulls away with a gasp, a bittersweet image lingering in his mind: him and Patrick driving down the highway, moonroof open and trunk packed with boxes of soap, holding hands over the center console and singing along to Mariah.

"That's what was _supposed_ to happen, if you'd just _talked_ to Stevie that day."

"I want that," he whispers. "I don't... I just want _him_."

Ruth smiles softly at him. "And you're willing to erase the last eight years to make it happen?"

"For eight _better_ years? Yes."

She smiles at him. "It's more like sixty years, but okay."

He wants it so badly, the chance to do it right, to have a life with Patrick, to have the life they were _supposed_ to live together before he messed up the space-time continuum or whatever.

Ruth places a hand on either side of his face. "When you and Patrick wake up, you'll be back in Schitt's Creek. Before the wedding. You won't remember any of this. Even the good stuff."

He nods, shoulders sagging. He doesn't want to lose the good stuff, he doesn't want to lose the memories of falling asleep on their couch in their apartment, of going to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden to see the cherry blossoms, of sitting on their fire escape with a glass of wine and a blanket wrapped around them, the setting sun making Patrick glow beautifully golden. He takes a moment to mourn these memories — to mourn the life he wanted for them, the life they almost had but was kept just out of their reach. To mourn for those men who moved to the city with big dreams and big hearts and so much love. To apologize to those men for letting it fall apart, for not working harder to build a solid foundation for them. He hopes he's able to make it work this time. "Okay," he finally responds. "Okay."

"And you _have_ to bring Stevie to look at the cottage."

"Okay."

"That's all I'm going to let you remember."

"Can you please let me remember to rent a tent for our wedding instead of the pizza oven, because I really—"

"No."

"Ugh, fine." It didn't _really_ matter to him. Their wedding was still perfect.

"Just the cottage."

"Okay!"

"You're sure?"

"Yes!"

She grins widely at him. It looks weird, since it's Ruth, but he supposes it could be worse.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I _really_ hope I never have to see you again."

"Likewise."

She smiles again, and kisses his forehead.

And everything goes black.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to everyone who has read this, and I'm sorry for any pain it has caused. Hopefully this makes up for it.  
> 

David stirs when the mattress dips as Patrick gets out of bed.

"No, c'mback," he murmurs.

Patrick drops a kiss to his cheek. "I gotta get ready for work," he says. David can hear the smile in his voice.

"W're closed, 's Monday," he mumbles. "C'mback t'bed."

Patrick noses along his jawline, dropping soft kisses in its wake. "I have to go to Terry's to pick up the alpaca throws, remember?"

"Ugh, fine," David responds, snuggling back into the pillows.

He hears Patrick's fond laugh but still doesn't open his eyes. "You still having breakfast at the motel?"

"Mmhmm."

"Mm," Patrick says, pressing his face against David's neck. "Then you should really join me for a shower so you aren't late."

"Too early."

Patrick trails a hand up David's thigh to rest gently on his hip. "I'll make sure it wakes you up," he purrs, nipping at his earlobe.

David throws the duvet off, cursing at the cold air that hits him.

A minute later, Patrick is on his knees in front of him in the shower, and David is burning up from the inside, unable to even remember why he felt cold in the first place.

\---

Breakfast with his family was emotional. Sparse, so he's still really fucking hungry, but emotional.

Popping in to see his best friend after was even worse.

He thought they would hang out, maybe get high while she changed the sheets or something.

Instead, she upended his entire life.

Patrick didn't help, once David finally made it back to their apartment. His eyes wide and earnest, willing to give up the home he loves to make David happy.

David's fingers start itching to do... _something_ , so he quickly wraps up the email he's writing to a vendor and switching to his messages with Stevie.

Stevie  
  
**David:** hey  
  
**David:** are you busy  
  
**David:** i need a ride somewhere and honestly id welcome the company  
  
**Stevie:** fine, but you're paying for dinner.  
  
**David:** i cant tonight but i will give you 2 bottles of rose apothecarys best midprice vintage for your trouble  
  
**Stevie:** be there in 5.  
  


David glances up from his seat on the couch to watch Patrick, who is folding laundry at the bed.

He's so fucking beautiful that David gets the urge to cry. He's suddenly so overwhelmed by just how much he loves him, and having their entire future ahead of them, having Patrick want to spend the rest of his life doing this with _him_ , folding laundry and sending emails in comfortable silence, is suddenly too much.

He breathes through it. If he starts crying over the thought of doing chores with Patrick until they're withered and grey, Patrick will never let him live it down. He _still_ teases David for crying during _Maid in Manhattan_.

"Um," he starts, and Patrick's eyes immediately snap over, like he will always have his undivided attention. David melts a little. "I'm going to meet Stevie before dinner at the motel, if that's okay?"

"Are you asking my permission to hang out with your friend?" Patrick says with a smirk. The teasing lilt is back in his voice, and David sighs lightly in relief, the lingering cloud of their earlier conversation dissipating with one quip from his fiancé.

"No, I just... wanted to let you know."'

Patrick drops the shirt he's folding and crosses over to the couch. Even with his short legs, it only takes him three paces to reach David across the small space. He drops into David's lap, his knees bracketing David's hips as he leans down for a kiss. David returns it eagerly, hungrily.

He slides a hand up Patrick's strong, wide back to rest gently at the base of his skull, holding him there and never wanting to let go.

Patrick licks into his mouth and presses their hips together, and David is so turned on that he nearly texts Stevie to forget it, but he feels like he _has_ to go.

He can't believe he's even considering leaving this spot, let alone so singularly focused on taking Stevie to the cottage, but he feels compelled to. Like his legs might force him up off this couch against his will anyway, so he's going to follow through.

But Stevie isn't here yet, and Patrick is, so he enjoys it while he can.

"Mm, what was that for?" he asks against Patrick's lips.

His fiancé shrugs. "Just want to make the most of our last days in this place. There's still a few things I want to do to you here."

"Oh?" He smiles. "Like what?"

Patrick leans forward, a hand trailing under his sweater, nails scraping over David's chest as he bites that place under his ear that David is convinced has Patrick's name tattooed on it at this point. "Like let you fuck my face on this couch," he whispers, lips ghosting over the shell of David's ear.

"Jesus, Patrick..."

"Or maybe just dry hump like teenagers until we both come in our pants?" he continues, grinding his hips down in a hard circle. David's hands fly down to Patrick's waist, holding him in place as he presses up against him.

_Buzz Buzz._

"Fuck!" David yells.

"Or," Patrick continues, picking up the pace with his hips. "Leaving you _so_ turned on that all you can think about while you're gone is coming back here and letting me bend you over the table the second you're in the door?"

David pulls him down again. "Patrick..."

_Buzz Buzz._

Patrick stands up and presses a soft kiss to David's lips, casually, like he isn't at all affected by this. "No, David, making Stevie wait downstairs while we finish getting each other off isn't on the list," he says as he crosses over to the entry and presses the button to unlock the building's front door. "We checked that one off last month, remember?"

David just sighs and leans his head against the back of the couch.

A moment later, Stevie is knocking and letting herself in, complaining about climbing all the way up to the third floor just to pick up David, "who _should_ have been waiting outside, since I graciously offered to drive!"

"Where are you guys going?" Patrick asks, innocently, from the kitchen, where he's making himself a cup of tea and acting like he didn't just pull all of the blood in David's body away from his brain and into his dick.

"I have no idea," Stevie responds. "David?"

He waves her off. "Just an errand."

"Do you want me to come?" Patrick asks, only the faintest hint of a smirk on his beautiful face.

David bites the inside of his cheek. He just loves him _so_ much. "No, I absolutely do _not_ want you to come," he responds, voice pitching just slightly into a whisper.

"You sure, David? I mean, you're having dinner with your family tonight; seems like a _long_ time to _wait_."

"Is this a sex game?" Stevie asks. "Because it sounds like you two are speaking in innuendo and I'm about to throw up, so."

Patrick laughs. "Have fun, you two."

"Mmhmm," David responds, crossing to the door to kiss him goodbye. "Make sure the table is clear when I get home," he says, gesturing to Patrick's papers strewn over it from where he was running the numbers on their involvement with the Rosebud expansion earlier. "Don't want to get any papercuts."

"You two are disgusting," Stevie tells them, bolting out the door.

"Bye honey," David says with one last kiss.

"Bye!"

\---

And as he sits on the hood of Stevie's car, her arms around him after a truly draining conversation, it hits him. This is where he and Patrick need to be. Where _he_ needs to be.

Fuck his former friends. Fuck New York and its bad memories. He's _won._ He has Patrick, and Stevie, and the store. He has his family.

And more importantly, he _wants_ this.

He wants to spend his life here, in Schitt's Creek, with his amazing husband in this perfect cottage.

He can picture it so clearly — him and Patrick cooking dinner together; him and Patrick sitting in the backyard on a warm summer night, splitting a bottle of wine; him and Patrick hosting holidays here; having sex with Patrick on every surface of every room in the house; Stevie coming over to drink their booze and Patrick carrying her into their guest room after she falls asleep on the couch...

So he sits in his best friend's embrace, and he lets himself cry.

He cries for his younger self, who didn't know what it was like to love and be loved this completely. Not just romantically, by someone as wonderful, as _good_ , as Patrick, but also by a true friend like Stevie, by his partner-in-crime sister, by his parents, by his neighbors, by his future in-laws, by his vendors and his customers. David doesn't want to return to the anonymity of New York City — he wants this life, in this small town. He wants to keep this.

And he _can_. He can have this. He just has to break it to his family first.

So once he and Stevie are back in her car, he asks her how to make an offer on a house.

"How the fuck should I know?" She asks, her smile blinding.

He really loves her, and he realizes he's never told her.

So he does.

"I love you, you know."

Because that's who he is now.

He is a nearly-married man who lives in a rural small town and loves people.

He isn't the wild, aloof rebel of his New York days. He doesn't know that man anymore. He doesn't even want to.

"Ew, is _this_ a sex game?" Stevie responds.

He shoves her shoulder lightly, and they sing along to the radio on the way back to the motel, their smiles wide.

\---

The next day, he holds Patrick in his arms on the front lawn, looking at their — _their_! — cottage as they promise to make each other happy here. It's a promise David knows they'll both keep.

Patrick grins widely, incandescently, at him, and David feels a strange pang in his chest, almost like longing, like he aches for this joyful look on Patrick's face. It oddly feels like years since he's seen it, as if he's deeply _missed_ this smile.

So David holds him, and he grins himself, and he imagines a hundred perfect futures together that he can't wait to see come true.

And he doesn't think about New York once.

\---

They check back in on their Pair, scared of what havoc those two have wreaked this time.

If they had fingers to peek through, they would.

"David!" Patrick calls. "Don't forget the potato salad!"

"Okay, when have I _ever_ forgotten potato salad?" David responds as he walks out of the sliding glass doors with a large serving bowl in hand. "I thought you knew me better than that by now."

Patrick smiles at him, the freckles across his nose (which they haven't seen since he was a child playing tee-ball) prominent against the sun-pinked skin under his wayfarers. "I was just worried you ate it all while I was out here slaving over a hot grill."

David sets the bowl down and leans forward to kiss him as he takes his seat at the table. "I thought about it, but I didn't want to ruin my appetite." His hair is mostly free of product, wind-blown and slightly greyer at the temples, his skin beautifully bronzed from the summer sun.

"A toast," Johnny says, and they take in the scene.

Johnny and Moira, older and slightly more relaxed into their age, sit proudly at David and Patrick's outdoor table. Johnny is in a linen suit and Moira is wearing a black cotton wrap dress with a wide-brimmed hat they could swear once belonged to Alexis, her arm wrapped loosely through Marcy's next to her.

Clint claps Stevie on the back good-naturedly, like she's been family for years, and they realize that maybe she has. Stevie smiles at him softly before looping her fingers through Ruth's, matching gold bands on their left hands.

Across from Stevie, Ted holds a toddler on his lap as Alexis fusses with a young girl's hair.

Rachel raises her glass from her spot on Ted's right, as — wait, is that... Patrick's college roommate, Mike? Yes, yes, they think it is — Mike lightly squeezes her thigh.

"To David and Patrick, on their tenth anniversary," Johnny is still toasting, but they aren't listening.

They take themself on a tour, enjoying the solitude of the cottage and taking advantage of their Pairs' good-natured moods outside to really absorb the home they've created.

There are wedding photos in the living room, including some from Stevie and Ruth's metropolitan affair in New York and Alexis and Ted's beach ceremony. They smile (or whatever they can do without a human face) thinking how mad David must have been after his own perfect outdoor ceremony was rained out.

They move on, noticing the blanket from Patrick's apartment tossed artfully over the back of the couch. They know if they snooped, there would be lube in every single end table in the room, so they decide against it.

They move upstairs and walk right in on David and Patrick, moving against each other under the blankets. _Goddamn human time!_

"I love you," David whispers. "I love you so much."

"I love you," Patrick gasps back as he comes.

They hate that they know what Patrick's earth-shattering-orgasm face looks like.

They hate even more that they didn't often see it before he met David. But they're glad he wears it so regularly now.

They take a break in Patrick's study to let them finish up, and notice the map of Ontario on the wall displaying five rose stamps, signifying the Rose Apothecary locations. They're so proud of them.

On Patrick's desk sits a photo from their engagement hike, and they laugh (or whatever!). David was right — Patrick looks great, David looks like he crawled out from under a bridge.

They close their eyes (or they would if they had them) for a moment and let time wash over them before they search for David and Patrick again. It's dark and the power is out, and they're making love in front of the fireplace.

Fucking insatiable. Also, really fucking corny. Still, they can feel the deeply-rooted happiness and contentment rolling off of the couple in waves, and they're glad this worked for them.

They give it another minute, and the house is empty. They reach out and find them on the highway nearby, holding hands over the center console as they drive.

Another minute, and David and Patrick are older, curled on their couch and eating pizza straight from the box, their clothes rumpled and hair slightly mussed. _Jesus, do these two have any other hobbies?!_

They watch David and Patrick work at it. They watch these two build a life together, powering through the hard times and having the painful conversations. They watch them yell at each other from opposite sides of the kitchen about something inconsequential, and they watch Patrick fall asleep on the couch that night because he's too stubborn to go to bed. And they watch David wake up the next morning and drape a blanket over his husband's shoulders while he brews him a cup of tea. And they watch them talk it out. And they decidedly _don't_ watch them make up because they've already seen a lifetime's worth of sex from these two and they've only been here for like, five minutes.

Their Guardian checks in one last time, enjoying how old age looks on them — David's hair is silver and full, Patrick's is light blonde and sparser. They both have deep wrinkles in their foreheads and pronounced crows feet around their eyes, right where they scrunch up when they laugh.

Their eyes still sparkle with fondness while they dance together at their niece's wedding.

They watch as Patrick pulls David into the room off the event space where the wedding party got ready earlier, and pushes him onto the sofa before gently lowering himself to his knees.

"Can I get a pillow, David?"

"What, your knees finally feeling the years of illicit blowjobs, honey?"

Patrick glares at his husband. "I'd very much like to suck your dick before your sister finds us, so unless you want to keep teasing me—"

David pulls him into a kiss that has no right being as hot as it is after all their years together.

He hands his husband a pillow and begins to unbuckle his belt, and their Guardian has seen enough.

These two clearly live a long, happy, _satisfying_ life together. They don't need a private show to know that. They've seen more than enough of these two to last them through their next five thousand charges.

So they take a seat (or something) as they wait for their next assignment. They earned a few moments' respite, after all this.

They thought their job was easy, in the early days of David and Patrick's relationship, because their bond was so strong. But being the soulmate-iest soulmates doesn't change the fact that relationships take work and sacrifice and care and give-and-take. _Compromise_ , they remember from a milestone moment, now decades ago, in David and Patrick's relationship.

So maybe their next Pair doesn't have a bond as strong. Maybe they only get one of those every five thousand Pairs.

But honestly, after seeing what a love that strong can do to someone when it hurts? They'll gladly take another 4,999 easy Pairs.

And next time they see a bond that strong, they'll remember that love alone doesn't make it easy and they'll be sure to keep them on the correct path the _first_ time around. Because _this_? This is how it's supposed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to yell at me (about schitts creek or just in general or for this fic tbh) on [tumblr](http://danverses.tumblr.com)


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